


Bath, bed, and you

by TooManyChoices



Series: Sherlock and the Thames [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Showers, Wet!Lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2039355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock takes a dip in the Thames, an evening of vulnerability leads to a reduction in personal space and an increase in intimacy. People will certainly talk now...and so they should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bath, bed, and you

“Hello?”

“John. Sherlock needs your assistance” There was no need for further introduction as Mycroft’s polished sibilants undulated across the phone line.

“I’m at work Mycroft, can’t it wait?” John had three patients queued and needed to watch his appointment times if he was to stand any chance of getting home at anything resembling a sane hour.

“I’m afraid not John. He appears to have thrown himself into the Thames. I’ve sent an ambulance to Richmond Bridge, however I think your presence may be of more assistance.”

John cursed under his breath, his face pinched and furrowed, “Why?….No, don’t bother..I’m getting my coat.”

There was a note of genuine relief from the man on the phone, “Thank you John. A car is waiting for you.”

John’s dismissive grunt as he hung up may have been more about his frustration that Mycroft had assumed he’d drop what he was doing to run to Sherlock’s aid than his haste to exit the building. Whatever the case, John’s murmured apologies and muttered excuses of an emergency gained little sympathy from either patients or staff as he closed the door behind him and climbed into the sleek black car and set off.

John’s marriage was over and had been for some months. Mary and the baby were no longer part of his life. He didn’t like to dwell on the painful details but in the end he was better off without them and they were better off without him. John hadn’t moved back to Baker Street - not quite. He spent several nights a week there usually during cases; or after cases; or if it seemed too late to make the trip home; or if he’d had a few drinks; or it seemed like Sherlock needed the company; or it seemed like he did. He doubted either of them believed the lure of either Baker Street or the attraction of its intoxicating inhabitant could be eluded forever, but it seemed somehow important to try.

@@@@@

He could see the flashing lights of emergency vehicles intermittently lighting up brickwork around them almost a block away from his destination. The waning light of London Autumn cast long shadows deep into recesses and leeching all colour save the garish blues and reds of the gathered cars.

John could just make out Greg Lestrade standing by the ambulance, talking animatedly with the gathered police, firemen and associated teams. Even from a distance, the light pouring from the back of the van showed a mixture of anger and concern on Greg’s face. From long experience with that expression, John guessed that Sherlock was therefore probably in the back of the ambulance already. Striding over the uneven ground toward the amassed resources, he found his hunch had been correct as a bedraggled head of damp curls above a vivid orange shock blanket came into view.

“I’m perfectly fine Lestrade, I really don’t see the value of this over-reaction.”

“You’re not fine Sherlock, and we’re not over-reacting. A person goes into the Thames in October and there’s a good chance they won’t be coming out alive. The water’s not exactly warm this time of year.”

“And yet, Inspector….Here I am……Oh…hello John, I suppose my brother called you too?”

John and Greg shared a glance of long suffering exasperation tinged with relief.

“I was at work Sherlock. You know…that thing that pays for food and power.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “It wasn't me that called you, John. As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.” The haughty boast was slightly undermined by the addition of a rather wet cough.

“Yes. I can see that. Clearly this only needed the combined forces of London’s emergency services to ensure your safety. There was really no need for an ex-army doctor’s help.”

Sherlock’s eyes hardened slightly, “I didn’t need _anyone’s_ help. If Mycroft feels the need to exert his over-protective… <cough>….meddling…<cough>…”

John threw a concerned look toward the ambulance officer standing behind Sherlock, who smiled back reassuringly while checking various readings. “He OK to go home?”

“Yes, he should be. Keep him warm, and get some fluids into him Doctor Watson. I know you know the drill. I suspect he will have picked up a bug from the water. If he’s not head down over the toilet by dawn, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“You’re on, although I don’t like my chances of winning that bet. See you next time Patrick.” John shook the ambulance officer’s hand and wondered what it said about their lives that they were on such friendly terms with the local emergency services.

Walking back to Mycroft’s waiting car, John took in the state of his flatmate. Under the blanket, which unusually for once, he hadn’t shrugged off in disdain, Sherlock was shivering visibly. Sherlock’s distinctive coat had been removed and wrung out, but John could feel the sodden wool soaking its way through his jacket as it lay draped over his arm and the salty, oily smell of the Thames clung to it and his flat-mate. The ambulance officer was right, Sherlock needed to get out of these clothes and into a warm shower sooner rather than later.

@@@

The trip back was quiet, yet punctuated by sniffles and coughs from the man beside him. At another time, John may have seen it as a bid for sympathy, but tonight Sherlock was clearly miserable and as the tall man hunched ever lower in the seat, John’s earlier frustration slowly morphed into genuine concern.

“You OK?”

“Fine.” The response came out clipped and brusque.

“You’ve caught something, you know.”

“Apparently.”

“We’ll get you home, dry and get some food into you and you’ll be fine.”

John expected Sherlock to launch into a lengthy explanation on the usual duration on colds, intestinal illnesses and the probability of complications from the various flora found in Thames water. Instead, Sherlock’s simple answer of, “Dull”, was infinitely more worrying.

By the time they reached Baker Street, the shivering was worse and John could see Sherlock stoically struggling to stop his teeth from chattering. They made it up the stairs and Sherlock sat heavily on the couch as John efficiently turned up the heating, started the water running in the shower and knelt to remove Sherlock’s shoes and socks. What little energy the taller man had left was all but expended getting to the bathroom.

Sherlock looked up from his makeshift seat on the side of the bath with tired eyes, “Sorry.”

“No. It’s fine. We’ll get you clean and dry and in bed and you’ll be fine in the morning.”

“No..John” Sherlock lay his hand heavily on John’s forearm, “I mean, Sorry….I’m not sure I can manage this on my own.” He nodded toward the shower over the bath.

“Oh. Well..” John paused and then continued with his best ‘Doctor Watson’ voice, “We’ll manage Sherlock, and I’ve done my fair share of bathing patients. We’ll be fine.”

Sherlock’s eyes dropped again as he leaned forward to rest his head on John’s chest as John continued with the buttons before pulling the shirt down his long arms. From previous experience in the Army, John had more than once held patients under showers to rid them of everything from shrapnel to parasites.

John shed his own coat and shirt, toeing them across the floor to the smelly pile of Sherlock’s ruined suit, before pausing briefly and then clinically stripping them both of the remainder of their clothes. He’d never shed his own clothes in past patient showering, but the cold water of the Thames, generously shared by Sherlock had soaked him through and the warm water would benefit him as much as Sherlock.

Sherlock was leaning up against the tiles and he lifted his head and smiled sleepily.

John looked back, slightly confused as the expression, “What?”

“If people aren’t talking already…..I think they should start.”

John looked down at himself, then across at Sherlock, both naked in the quiet of the bathroom before barking out a stuttered laugh, “Oh well, was bound to happen eventually I suppose.”

Sherlock’s smile broadened, “Bound to….shame I’m in no fit state to take advantage of you, Doctor.”

“That’s the problem with you Sherlock Holmes, you’re all talk and no action. There’s a name for people like you.” John added playfully.

“Genius?” Sherlock sniggered.

“….Tease.” The long day and absurdity of the situation was pushing John to careless giggles. “Let’s get you clean you idiot” he added fondly.

Sherlock pushed up from the edge, the strain showing clearly in his shoulders and he lifted first one foot and then the other into the tub and under the spray. John stepped carefully behind him, trying to maintain a respectful distance between them while being close enough to steady him should he stumble.

Sherlock made a courageous effort with the soap before giving up in frustration and offering it wordlessly to John with an apologetic look. John took the bar and lathered his hands before running them over Sherlock’s shoulders and down his arms. Sherlock’s eyes fell closed as he stood motionless under the stream of water, silently surrendering himself to the shorter man’s ministrations as water rinsed damp curls clean.

John soaped Sherlock’s back, running his fingers gently over the patchwork of scars earned during his years away. John had never asked, and Sherlock hadn’t offered an explanation but as John’s fingertips followed ridges and furrows he wondered at the pain he’d endured alone at the hands of their joint enemies.

Without realising it, John’s hands had stilled on Sherlock’s hips as he sunk deep in thoughts of the past. He was only jolted back by a querulous clearing of Sherlock’s throat.

“Sorry….I was just thinking of when you were away.”

“John…..” Sherlock sounded painfully tired.

“It’s OK…I understand why you did it….it’s just...”

“No..John, I think I need to sit down, or I’m going to fall.”

“Oh. Let me just….” All concern for the awkwardness of the situation fled as John stepped closer and reached out strong arms to steady the taller man as he awkwardly turned and lowered himself to the floor of the bath, the large hands shaking as they gripped the sides. John pushed the plug into the hole and turned on the bath taps on and the shower taps off.

John crouched at the other end of the bath, shorter legs folded up with his knees near his chin, Sherlock’s long legs bracketing his hips. “Better?”

“Mmm a bit, but you look ridiculous all bunched up over there. Turn around and come up this end, I think we can agree all semblance of personal space has now been obliterated, and I believe I promised not to compromise your virtue.” The weak attempt at a cheeky grin was back.

John looked briefly thoughtful before shrugging and pivoting, then slotting his hips within Sherlock’s thighs and hesitantly leaning back against his chest, letting Sherlock’s warmth penetrate his back.

A contented rumble echoed around the room, “Mmmmm, now THAT’S better.” The sentiment was further reinforced as Sherlock's long arms circled around John's chest to rest on his torso.

A comfortable silence enveloped them as the fresh water ran into the bath, John reaching to shut the taps off as the level reached a suitable height. John found himself idly running his hands along the broad planes of Sherlock's thighs, lost in thought and mildly amused at the way the water gently moved the sparse hairs back and forth when he felt a telltale nudge against the small of his back. Before he could react adversely, a gentle voice murmured intimately against the shell of his ear, "Ignore it. It just my _transport_ checking if I've changed my mind about your virtue."

John's skin prickled at the implication, "And......have you?"

"No." The answer was harsh in its brevity.

John found himself oddly disappointed at the response. They'd been skirting this for so long. It was clear that both knew there was more than simple friendship there and yet neither of them willing to cross the line and risk rejection. It was one of the reasons John hadn't moved back to Baker Street. He couldn't face being kept at arms length any more. It was simple, he wanted more.

But it seemed Sherlock didn't. John swallowed whatever hope the earlier flirting had raised and softly replied, "Oh..right..OK. Sorry I asked."

Suddenly the lips were back at his ear, warm breath stirred the short hairs there, "Don't mistake my meaning John....Let me be perfectly clear. I _meant,_ No....", but this time the lips didn't retreat, "Not.right.now. But I think, later, it's time to give all those people who are talking...something to talk about"

The resulting shiver that shuddered through John couldn't possibly be blamed on the cold, not with the groan that accompanied it. The sultry chuckle from behind him assured John that the reply had been heard loud and clear and perhaps the conversation may have continued had Sherlock's _transport_ not chosen that moment to attempt to clear it's lungs of the building fluid.

Sherlock curled forward as the coughing fit took hold, forcing John to lean away and turn to his ailing detective. As the wracking coughs subsided to gasps, he looked up at John, "But not tonight John, as I don't feel at all well."

John nodded mutely, torn between thoughts of what they might give people to talk about and concern for the alarmingly pale man in the bath with him. Shaking his head clear of anything but immediate need, he helped Sherlock from the bath and after gently drying him with a towel, ushered him to bed.

After a quick trip to the kitchen, retrieving pain killers, cough mixture and dry toast, John returned to Sherlock who had successfully located and added three blankets to his spacious bed before crawling in. John had initially intended to simply tend his patient before departing for his old room upstairs until Sherlock quietly lifted the covers and gestured for John to join him.

Figuring that the proverbial cat was out of the bag already, John accepted the invitation and settled in beside his flat-mate's lean form. Although Sherlock was warm, a quick check of his temperature revealed no fever and if they were lucky, he'd also avoid any stomach problems from the pollution in the Thames. Content that he'd done all he could for his patient, John listened until he heard Sherlock's breathing even out before finally succumbing to sleep himself.

@@@

The following morning John awoke to his flatmate spooned up against him as if this were the way they greeted every day. Sherlock's errant tumble of hair brushed his cheek as his neck was nuzzled and licked by an enthusiastic and clearly much healthier patient.

"Feeling better?" John managed between amused chuckles.

"Much. The cough seems to have abated and better still...no nausea. It appears I'm cured." Sherlock's hands roamed freely across the stocky planes of John's body, "I have a truly talented Doctor."

"We should send him a thank-you note."

"I have a better idea." Sherlock's hands stilled on John's hips and he ground against him firmly. "I can think of a much better way to celebrate."

John laughed again, his own morning erection rising to the occasion. "Oh...." he drawled, "That's how _all_ my patients pay me."

Sherlock stilled suddenly and John felt him pull away. The gap between their bodies seemed a sudden dreadful space. John rolled over to face him, suddenly afraid that he'd ruined all the progress they'd made, his erection wilting at the change in mood.

Sherlock's eyes were down-turned, the intimacy of the room suddenly broken. John reached out a tentative hand, "Sherlock?" There was no change, John lifted his had to cup Sherlock's cheek, gently turning him to meet his eyes, "Sherlock....what.."

The beautiful eyes, that John had seen spark with intelligence and vengeance looked distant and haunted as he made contact and his voice held a note of vulnerability, "It's not payment John, I don't...." He was clearly struggling with some long forgotten demon as he cleared his throat again, "I don't use sex as payment, John.....not...any more."

The shock must have shown on John's face as Sherlock again turned his head away. Sherlock never spoke of his past, but John had heard enough from Mycroft to know it was a sad and deeply scarring period of Sherlock's life. Without knowing, John had exposed a facet of that life. One that Sherlock preferred to leave in the past.

"Oh hell Sherlock, come here." John reached out and gathered the now quiescent man to him. "I'm sorry. I'm an idiot....you know that. I didn't mean any of it. How could you possibly think I'm anything but the luckiest man alive to be in your bed. You don't _owe_ me anything, and this could never be about a debt. If it were, I'd never be able to make things even between us." John was showering Sherlock's face with kisses between the words, "Can we try again? Please, let's start again."

Sherlock's eyes cleared and he took a deep cleansing breath, shrugging off the past and its ghosts, "You're right."

"About what?"

"You _are_ an idiot."

John snorted and sought out Sherlock's lips, testing for the first time their lush fullness, feeling around the unusual curvature of the top lip under his with his tongue. Sherlock tugged John's top lip between his own and nibbled gently before gently swiping his own tongue against it, pushing to explore this new experience. John settled against him, the lazy warmth of the bed cocooning them together as they unhurriedly explored each other's skin.

John pulled away and mumbled, "Well, this is nice."

"I plan on it getting a lot nicer before we're done." Sherlock's voice had dropped nearly an octave and oozed like honey around them both.

John tried to gather some scattered thoughts, "We should...." he tried again as Sherlock ground his erection, now back in full force, against his hip, "How _much_ nicer?"

Sherlock slid his hand down John's body and for the first time, trailed a long elegant finger along John's erection, "As much as you want." He leaned in and whispered in John's ear, "How much do you _want_ , John?"

John groaned, abandoning himself to the sensation, "God, Sherlock. I want all of it...Can I have it all?"

"Mmmmmm." Sherlock rumbled, the seductive chocolate of his voice wrapping around and through John as he shifted to align their cock's together and closing his hand around them both, stroking lazily. "Of course."

"Tell me you have what we need in your bedside drawer. God, please tell me you've prepared for this."

"MmmHmmm. It's all there, lube...condoms...Ever since I came back I've been waiting for this." Sherlock dipped his head to suck on one of John's nipples, smiling against the skin as John's back arched and he bucked into Sherlock's hand. "Watching you..wanting you...waiting..for this, John."

John whimpered and said brokenly, "You never said, even when Mary....."

Sherlock's concentration was slipping, but still the words wove around them "Only wanted you if you wanted me...."

John arched again as Sherlock bit down, the nerves in his nipples unaccountably now connected to his cock, "God Sherlock, always.....always wanted you."

"Mine now." Sherlock was stroking them together shamelessly now, all semblance of control slipping. John knew that they needed to stop if he was to have any chance at anything else.

John pushed Sherlock's hand away, soothing any hurt with a kiss. "God, you're gorgeous like that, but I want more of you than this. Let me ride you, Sherlock. Will you fill me and let me do that?"

Sherlock's eyes widened, then pressed shut, "Jesus John, I didn't think you'd let me. I always thought you'd want..."

John blushed a little, "Yeah. To be honest, I usually do. But right now I want you Sherlock. I want you inside me. I want to know that you're the only one I've done that with. I want this to be ours."

The hint of a tear sparkled at the corner of Sherlock's eye and he drew a ragged breath before nodding silently, reaching for the lube and condoms before snuggling back down amongst the sheets and blankets.

John looked at the items in his hands, "You've done this, yeah?"

"Yes, but not like this, John. Not when it mattered. Oh God, John, this matters so much."

"To me too. Will you open me up? Get me ready for you?"

Sherlock curled over John, long legs twined with shorter, spreading a space to allow Sherlock's nimble fingers to trail down and tease past balls and stroke over perineum. He circled gently, teasing at the small puckered hole. Pressing and stroking, before dipping just a fingertip inside.

John was lost to sensation, the feel of Sherlock's elegant fingers skilfully preparing him, caring for him and knowing where it was leading was almost enough to push him over the edge. More than once, as Sherlock toyed with and stretched him first with one finger, then two, John was forced to ask him to stop, allowing him to regain some modicum of control as Sherlock found his prostate and rubbed it, testing what best ruined his partner.

Sherlock meanwhile, was entranced with every moan and grunt that his ministrations pulled from John and seemed to revel in dragging every moment of joy from the shorter man. His eyes flicked restlessly between John's face, to his leaking cock and the flush spreading across his chest and up his neck. More than once, he rolled his own hips restlessly fighting against the desire to rut against something and gain some relief for his swollen erection.

John struggled to push Sherlock onto his back, "God..now Sherlock!...I need you now. Roll over." John tore the edge from the condom packet and crawled to his knees.

Not needing to be told twice, Sherlock twisted on the bed, balling his fists in the sheets as John rolled the condom down onto him, stroking Sherlock's shaft as he went. Sherlock hissed between clenched teeth, "I'd like to apologise if this is embarrassingly quick. I've had too much time to contemplate this moment."

"We'll be fine." John's strong hands smoothed calming hands across Sherlock's chest as he straddled Sherlock's narrow hips. "It's fair to say we've both waited long enough to begrudge a bit of speed now. There's always time for a repeat performance later."

Sherlock stared at John with wide eyes for a moment as if he only now realised that this wasn't a single miraculous opportunity to be with John and reached up for a tender kiss before John sat up and slowly, gradually, sunk down onto Sherlock's cock inch by inch. His eyes flickered occasionally as a slight wince crinkled the corners. But finally, as Sherlock gulped deep steadying breaths, John was settled with Sherlock's angular hips pressed against his arse.

John reached down and uncurled Sherlock's fingers from the sheet, instead curling them in his own, clenched together and joining them in yet another way. Sherlock looked up, still struggling with the intense sensation of having John wrapped around him, nodded and whispered brokenly, "Move...."

So John moved, starting first by lifting just marginally and then down again, later with more force and speed as John found which angles brushed his prostate, which pushed Sherlock deeper and the roll of his hips that wrung exquisite groans from the man below him.

Sherlock's increasingly urgent clasping at John's hands was the only warning Sherlock could manage as John drove him toward his climax. One of Sherlock's hands was suddenly free as John released it to grab and stroke at his own erection, freely leaking pre-cum as he subtly changed his angle and ground in deep circles against Sherlock's hips.

With a throaty grunt, Sherlock was pulsing inside him and John's hoarse shout rent the silence of the room as John painted pale streaks across Sherlock's abdomen and chest. Shaking weakly as he felt quivers and shudders within him, John finally eased gently off and collapsed to pant on the bed next to the gorgeously wrecked man beside him.

As his breathing calmed, he heard a quiet baritone laugh beside him and turned his head to look at his new lover thinking abstractedly how attractive the detective looked with a slight sheen of sweat covering his still florid cheeks. "You OK?"

The deep chuckle continued as he nodded, "I was just thinking....If this is what people have been talking about, they can keep talking.


End file.
